The 200th Hunger Games
by ReddNook
Summary: As things begin to get boring with the Hunger Games for the Capitol, as the Hunger Games has occurred 199 times before, it's time to spice things up a bit. The 8th Quarter Quell will combine all of the twists of the previous Quarter Quells, and have 72 tributes, with 3, count it, 3 victors: one voted in, one reaped, and one that was a previous victor. SYOT Open!
1. The 200th Hunger Games

**Hey everyone! Here's an SYOT of the 200th Hunger Games. Basically, Prim's name was never called, and  
so Katniss never entered the arena.** **I will pick the winner as the story progresses, and I will be as objective  
as I can. If I kill off your Character, please don't be mad at me. There can only be three victors. There is no  
limit on the number of tributes you submit (though it doesn't mean I will accept all of them), and don't  
forget, I need Bloodbath Tributes, so if you want to guarantee your tribute won't die in the start, then  
maybe you could submit a bloodbath tribute! **

_Jet Blake (16 years old)_

I dash through the mayor's buidling, hoping that I wasn't going to be late. Mom was just about to announce the 200th Hunger Games. I couldn't be late. It was my first year as Head Gamemaker. No one else wanted the job, especially for this Hunger Games. Apparently, it was getting harder and harder for Gamemakers to come up with something that was new and fun for the Capitol to watch, and as the son of the president, I was forced into this position despite still being a teenager. I hope I won't disappoint the citizens of the Capitol, and the Districts.

When I finally burst into Mom's- I mean President Blake's office, I am breathing hard, and all eyes are on me. I push away my fallen black curls of hair that had fallen in front of my face, before shooting those in the room an innocent smile.

"Just in time?" I ask hopefully looking around catching a surprised look on the President's face, followed by a small smile. Everyone else seems to be staring daggers into me, but I pretend I don't notice, and I take my place near where the president is sitting.

"We're live in 5, 4, 3, 2," the man behind the camera says before he points towards us. It's just a formality to have the Head Gamemaker on the screen when the president announces the next Hunger Games, so it wasn't odd that I was standing next to my mother.

"For the 200th Annual Hunger Games," Mom announces- I mean, the President announces (I really need to stop doing that), pulling a card out of a box that read 200, "To show that we are not afraid to repeat the old, every previous Quarter Quell theme will occur for the 200th Quarter Quell. This means that there will be 72 tributes, 24 will be voted in, 24 will be previous victors, and 24 will be reaped. The tributes can be of any age, and there will be no mentors, stylists, prep teams, or even sponsors. There will be no Cornucopia, and instead weapons and supplies will be scattered throughout the arena. The tributes will get a mutt of a previous tribute to guide them through the arena until their death, or victory. There will be three victors, one voted in, one previous victor, and one reaped, even though they will all be in the same arena. The vote will take place in every district one week from now, and the reapings and announcements of every tribute two weeks from today. May the Odds be Ever in Your Favor, Districts."

I think I can work with this. I hope I can make the president proud of me. Maybe I could incorporate the classic moves of the Quarter Quells in the past and the Capitol would be quite happy to see the classics. I am sure the Capitol is a bit upset they can't sponsor any of their tributes, but they'll be happy, especially with all that is going to be happening. 72 tributes. They're all going to be my little toys. I was never the one to take care of my toys from when I was young, usually I would tear off my teddy bear's head or chew on one of my action figures. This should be interesting.

"We're clear!" the camera guy yells, and I immediately slouch again. The room is filled with the camera people, my fellow Gamemakers, and of course President Blake. I exhale and look around. The Gamemakers are talking amongst themselves and President Blake is smiling at me.

"Don't screw this up," President Blake whispers to me as she heads towards the door. "Everyone is dismissed!" she announces before exiting the room. One by one the Gamemakers and Camera people leave the room, leaving me alone. Was Mom trying to be encouraging? Or was she trying to intimidate me? Oh, I really hope I don't mess this up.

* * *

**I've moved the Submit forms and lists to my profile to try and avoid this story be deleted.  
If you wish to submit look at my profile for the information I need and the spots available.**


	2. A Little Extra

_Jet Blake (16 years old)  
_

Here I am, sitting in my brand new office, re-watching previous Hunger Games looking for the classic moves that all of the Capitol would like to see happen in this Hunger Games. I look at the older ones mostly because the ones more recently tried a cheap ripoff of the classics. Hopefully, I can get this Games to not be as terrible as that. The arena I designed is quite dynamic, and I don't believe that in any of the 199 Hunger Games previously there has been an arena quite like this one. Without a Cornucopia, I have a feeling that this Games may go on for a long time, and it's harder to think of good ways to plan this.

Just as I watch the victory of District 1's Diamond Clark win in the Cave of Lost Hope (the 194th Hunger Games), there is a loud knock at my door. I pause the program, the grime covered face of Marietta of District 4 on the screen, just as the life drained from her, before walking over to the door to greet whoever is visiting. I turn the jeweled knob of the door and I am immediately greeted by the last person in the world I'd expect to visit me.

"Dad?" I ask worried, looking at the tall man with the same jet black curly hair, almost looking exactly like me, except for my eyes, and the fact he was wearing a white gown one wears when they are in the hospital.

"Jet," Dad responds quietly. I peer at him curiously for a second, but when he says nothing else, I sigh.

"Come on, Dad," I finally say, as I begin leading him away from my office. Ever since the 195th Hunger Games, Dad had never been the same. No one really knew why, the 195th was by far the best since the 180's. I knew why though, I just never would tell anyone, especially my mother. It had all started out like a normal Hunger Games, until the District 9 reapings, when he saw her. Juniper Windair. The 18 year old beauty, 13 years younger than him, and I was sure that the look he gave when he saw her he really liked her and wanted her to win. He always had those favorites of the year, but I didn't know exactly what it was with Juniper until much later.

Juniper died during the Hunger Games, and after that, he went on a rampage, having the arena kill many of the surviving tributes. It really was terrifying, even for me, who was so used to the Hunger Games and their brutal nature. Mom had to stop him. She relieved him of duty, became the Head Gamemaker for the remainder of the Games. No one but Mom, Domini, Reglin and I knew anything about it (Domini and Reglin are my twin siblings three years younger than me). Dad went silent and didn't speak for a year. Domini, please her little heart, cried by his side, begging him to tell her that he loved her and that she wanted Dad to return to normal. Reglin didn't seem to give a hoot. He had always been the kid most like Mom. Always living up to her expectations. But now it's my time to shine.

"No," Dad says as I begin to lead him away, refusing to move from his spot.

"What's wrong, Dad?" I ask even more worried than I was before.

"They're coming. She's coming. Juniper. Don't let her..." Dad says before trailing off. He looked at me with his dreamy eyes. He must have been delusional.

"Dad, Juniper's dead," I state biting my lower lip.

"No, no! She's coming! She promised..." Dad said turning away from me, "Red Bell Lions are waking from their slumber."

"What?" I ask, but he's already walking away, and doesn't seem to hear me. Red Bell Lions? I shake my head at his delusions. I thought that when all of this first started he'd get over it, but apparently not. Just because he fell in love with some girl destined to die, didn't mean he had to leave us! That man. That terrible man. I huffed, turning away from the door, hurrying in. I'll make him pay for it, one way or another. The mutts. Juniper Windair. Yes. He'll see his beloved tribute die again. Why couldn't he just love Mom?

**Just though I'd post something to get to know Jet a little better. Anyways, still need some tributes!  
And don't think that this will affect whether District 9 will win or not, it may play a little role,  
but remember even the hated ones can win too.  
**


	3. Death Threats

_Jet Blake (16 years old)  
_

It wasn't long after Dad left my office that I resumed watching the previous Hunger Games. I stayed up the whole night, and almost the whole day watching Games after Games, writing down things that were the most action packed in each. The 75th Hunger Games did have an interesting clock mechanism, that some of them found out about, but out of all the things on my list of things to pull on the tributes, that clock is one of the lower ones. However, just as I make it to the 74th Hunger Games, a knock comes at my door.

I quickly perk up. I smooth my shirt out and push back my unmanageable hair, even though a couple of curls still pop back in front of my face. Another knock comes from the door. I clear my throat to hopefully make it so my voice doesn't crack when I greet whoever is at the door. I hurry over to the door, opening it, before being greeted by air. No one was there. It was curious. I look down the hall that leads to my office, and see no one. Absolutely no one. I didn't even think that anyone could run down the hall that fast. I shrug before I turn back towards the interior of the office.

I feel a grumble from my stomach and I realize I hadn't eaten in hours. Slowly I make my way down the hallway, ride down the elevator and arrive at the Gamekeepers' dining room. Apparently, my arrival caught the eyes of a few Gamekeepers and the one Avox in the room, but I ignored their stares. I slowly sat down, ordered an Avox to bring me my food and waited the few short minutes for the food to be catered to me.

"I don't think he's up to the challenge," one of the older Gamekeepers whispered, thinking that I was incapable of hearing him talk.

"Would you like to do his job?" another Gamekeeper scoffed leaning into the first one, trying to keep their conversation secret. The idiots didn't even realize that I could hear every word they were saying.

"Of course not! But if this year doesn't turn out well, the Capitol may treat him like the one last year," the first one whispered back. Last year's Gamekeeper was not a favorite in the Capitol, obviously. He couldn't walk around the Capitol without being insulted or sometimes nearly attacked. It drove the poor man to suicide. I really hope that I won't repeat his mistakes. The Avox delivered my food at this time, but I didn't touch it, more interested in what those two other Gamekeepers were saying.

"He's the president's son; maybe they would impeach the president," the other one suggested. I clenched my fist. If that happened, mother would never forgive me. It's bad enough that Dad went crazy, but if she loses her job because of me...

I stood up and hurried from the room, not looking back, nor caring if anyone was watching me. I couldn't let myself get distracted by things as petty as eating. I had to make this a good Hunger Games everyone would remember forever. It was hard enough I had to design something good enough to house 72 tributes, keep everyone interested until the victors came out, and make it a good Quarter Quell.

I hurried into my room, shutting the door quickly behind me, before grabbing my remote and beginning the 74th Hunger Games tapes. However, no sooner is the District 1 tributes reaped, as a knock comes from the door. I ignore it, but soon another knock comes. And then another. By the time I get to District 5, I'm fed up, and I pause the tape. I nearly throw my remote onto my desk before I walk over to the door. I jerk the door open, and no one is on the other side.

I shake my head and I turn back to my office, closing the door behind me. Just as I reach my desk again, I hear another knock. Now I am getting really angry. I walk back over to my door, and jerk it open once more.

"Who's there?" I ask, trying not to yell. I walk out of the doorway to look around. Suddenly I feel something heavy land of me, making me fall to the ground, the weight centered on my back. I feel the cold of a blade against my throat and I realize what is happening. Luckily my arms weren't under the weight of what, or who, ever was on top of me, and I used my arms to pull the blade away from my throat, making a standstill where the blade wasn't getting any closer to my throat. I kick towards my head with my feet and manage to hit the large weight, catching it by surprise, knocking it forward. I scrambled to my feet and saw who my attacker was.

It was one of the Avox servants, the one who served me my food. I'm breathing hard, and I slowly back away from the Avox, who began getting up, recovered from my surprise kick. Before I'm ready, the Avox lunges at me with the small knife the woman possesses.

"Why?" I ask before barely dodging the swipe the Avox does to attack me, making me fall flat on my behind, hands on the ground, next to my desk. I peer at the inside leg of my desk, having an open front, spying something interesting. The Avox does some sort of laugh; I suppose that's what an Avox sounds like when it laughs, because it sure didn't sound like any laugh I had ever heard. The Avox slowly stalks towards me the small knife ready.

"I'm sorry," I say and the Avox looks slightly confused for a moment. I inch closer to the inside of the desk next to me, as the Avox comes closer, obviously trying to toy with me. "Please," I say before looking like I was about to cry, "I'm only a kid." The Avox stops and looks at me with a sad frown before shaking her head. I was acting of course. Just a little bit closer until I can reach it.

The Avox moves quickly this time, but I'm quicker. I pull the emergency firearm out from under my desk, pulling the trigger, just before the woman is able to get to me. I nearly collapse, but I'm still in danger, as she is really still alive. I pull the trigger a few more times, before I relax and watch the Avox woman fall, almost right on top of me, the small knife stabbing me in the leg. I yell in pain, but I don't let the little wound discourage me. I shove the dead woman off of me, and slowly work on pulling the knife out.

As soon as the knife is out, blood begins to pour out. I keep my hands on the wound and slowly scoot across the room towards the alarm. I reach up with my bloodied hand and press the button, and await someone to take care of me.

* * *

It isn't long after that the Peacekeepers came and patched me up pretty quickly. They said that I would feel a bit sore in my leg for a bit, but I would heal just fine. I simply agreed and tried to get everyone out quickly. Apparently death threats were quite common with the Head Gamekeepers, and in fact a few times before other Gamekeepers tried to kill the Head Gamekeeper for his job. Luckily, I didn't have to sweat that. I would've loved if one of the others took my job, though not now. I like my job.

I sat at my desk making it to the 70th Hunger Games finally. However, I am interrupted once more by a knock at my door. I pick up the firearm from beneath the desk and slowly make it to the door. They weren't kidding when they said I'd be sore for awhile; my leg hurt. I opened the door, holding the firearm at the ready, pointing it at whoever was behind the door.

"Mom?" I asked, dropping my arm to my side. She raised an eyebrow, and I cleared my throat. "Sorry, I meant, President Blake? What are you doing here?"

"That's better," she said making her way into my office, "I'm here to make sure you're fine after the... ah... incident before."

"I'm fine. Great actually," I say nervously looking up at the intimidating face of my mother. She looks nothing like me. She has really large bones, making her look bigger than most women, and shoulder length strawberry blonde hair. She's wearing her uniform, as she is the president, and looks positively stiff, as if she were a board. I hate everything about her, especially that scowl she gets on her face when I call her mother, but I deal with it. I want to make her proud of me still.

"Good," my mother replies, "I also have heard reports that you haven't eaten lately. The Gamekeepers are worried that their Head Gamekeeper won't be ready when the time comes."

"I'll be fine," I insist.

"Just make sure you report for every meal, or from now on, you'll be found and forced to come; we'll assume you've gone missing," The president states looking at me.

"Yes, mam," I reply.

"I will see you later, then, Mr. Blake," my mother says, walking out of my office, closing the door behind her. I want to think that she is making me eat because she's worried about, but I know that's not it. She just needs someone to run the Games. I'm only her tool; she needs to make sure her tool is well oiled and ready to go. I'm ready to be her tool. But I won't be a tool forever.

**Ok, last Jet update until the tribute chapters start. I thought to ask all of my  
readers if they would prefer if I start after the reapings, or after, and if after  
when. I'll start the tribute chapters soon, I promise!  
**


End file.
